


say something loving

by crispierchip



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Internalized Kink Shaming, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip
Summary: Dean knows what he looks like, with his lips and his lashes and his freckles, he knows it’s bad enough without his wanting to spread his legs and be fucked like a bitch, but he still wants it. Can’t help it, sometimes. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it with someone else, though, with someone who doesn’t make him feel like this, this safe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/120173.html?thread=43254125) prompt, though i hesitate to call it a fill, since the prompt asked for daddy issues and i went with daddy kink. 
> 
> title from say something loving by the xx

John is nowhere to be found. He’s been gone for four days, and he's not picking up his phone, and while neither of those things is anything to write home about usually, Dean’s got a sour feeling in his stomach this time. 

He stays up late worrying, drinking too much. He calls John only to get his voicemail time after time, and he’s quickly running out of options. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he goes to find Bobby, because Bobby is - he is Bobby, and he’s always been there for Dean, maybe even more so than John has.

Bobby looks surprised for about three seconds after opening the door to find Dean on his porch, in the middle of the night, and then he steps aside to let him in. He pours each of them a glass of scotch - “For the long ride,” he says - and lets Dean explain why he’s here. It doesn’t take Dean long, and in the end Bobby nods, solemn. 

“We’ll figure it out, boy,” he says. “You know how he gets when he’s hunting,” Bobby goes on, and Dean does. He’s been on the receiving end of it too many times to expect anything different, but he still does. 

“I have a bad feeling about this one, Bobby,” Dean admits, looking up at him. Bobby looks the same as he always does, gruff and too tired, and Dean has to look away too quickly, afraid of being caught staring. 

Bobby sighs, pouring them some more scotch. “There ain’t nothing you can do about it now,” he says. “Go ahead and sleep and we’ll pick it up tomorrow, retrace his steps. I’ll make some calls, see if anyone’s heard anything ‘bout your daddy’s whereabouts.”

Dean lets out a breath, relieved now that he and Bobby have the beginnings of a plan made up. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says, chancing a small smile in Bobby’s direction. 

Bobby looks at him, something Dean doesn’t want to be able to make out in his eyes, and then he’s tossing back his scotch and the look is gone as quick as it came. 

+

Dean really tries to let it go. He tells himself that he’s going to hold off, this time, and things between the two of them are going to be normal, for once. He lays awake, though, in the middle of the night, hearing Bobby move around downstairs, and he thinks it would just be so easy. He’d only have to go down a flight of stairs and - 

He could just ask for it. Not with words, because he’s never been too good at those, but he could ask for it in other ways, he knows. 

Bobby goes to bed, eventually, and Dean is stuck in the quiet of his house, the noise of his own thoughts. It doesn’t take long. He lasts maybe ten minutes after he hears the door to Bobby’s bedroom close before he’s getting up. He doesn’t bother with a shirt, nor with pants, just makes his way to Bobby’s bedroom in his boxers. 

He tries to be as quiet as he can, but Bobby still jumps at right at the sound of his door creaking open. 

“Dean?” he asks, and it’s dark, it’s so dark Dean can hardly see, but he can tell Bobby’s confused by the turn of events. 

“It’s me,” Dean says, and his voice is rough, wobbly. He hates it. 

He makes his way to Bobby’s bed and doesn’t know where to go from there, so he just climbs up into it, straddling Bobby’s hips. Bobby tenses beneath him, but it’s only for a second, a very long one, and then his hands are coming to rest on Dean’s thighs. They’re warm and rough, dragging against Dean’s skin, and Dean shivers. 

“Boy,” Bobby just says, quiet and drawn out, a sigh, and Dean lets his eyes flutter shut, arches his back as Bobby’s hands make their way to his ass. 

“You want this?” Bobby asks, and Dean doesn’t want this, he thinks he  _ needs  _ it, at this point. 

“Please,” he breathes out, and even that single word is hard to get out, leaves him feeling exposed and wrung out. 

Bobby sighs and Dean tries not to notice it. It’s never Bobby who initiates this, always Dean, and Dean doesn’t look at that too closely, is afraid he might not like what he’ll see if he does. “Okay,” Bobby says, and then, in a sudden burst of force, he’s flipping them over, moving so Dean’s laying beneath him, Bobby pushed firmly between his legs. 

Dean lets out a breath, sharp, and his eyes fly open but it doesn’t matter, it’s too dark to see anything. Still, he feels his skin go hot at the display and he can’t help but spread his legs for Bobby, wants to get him closer.

“Jesus, you want it bad,” Bobby murmurs, but it’s not unkind. 

Dean knows what he looks like, with his lips and his lashes and his freckles, he knows it’s bad enough without his wanting to spread his legs and be fucked like a bitch, but he still wants it. Can’t help it, sometimes. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it with someone else, though, with someone who doesn’t make him feel like this, this safe.

Nonetheless, he flushes, now, this furious thing that he's glad Bobby won't be able to make out in the dark.

“How long has it been since the last time?” Bobby asks. He’s hard against Dean’s ass, rubbing his dick against Dean’s hole through both their boxers, and it might as well be  brand, for how humiliating it feels.

“Months?” Bobby goes on, rocking his hips harder, and Dean gasps, this tiny thing, cock leaking where it’s pressed against the inside of his underwear.

“You have anyone else take care of you since then?” Bobby asks him. 

Dean doesn’t answer, doesn’t even know if he can, with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, choking him up. 

“I asked you a question, boy,” Bobby says. He lays a stinging slap on the inside of Dean’s thigh, and Dean hisses at the burn of it. 

“No,” he says, and it’s thick, barely more than a murmur. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Bobby says, something mocking to it, and it makes Dean’s cheeks burn. “Been saving up for me.”

Dean wishes he didn't need this, this sort of sick humiliation to get him going, but he feels anxious when he goes too long without it, his head starting to feel too thick for his skull. “Wanted to be good for you,” he says, and the admission hurts him, physically, makes him want to curl up into a ball and hide under the bed, just so he’ll escape the embarrassment of it.

“Fuck, baby, you already are,” Bobby breathes out, and that does it for Dean, makes him feels ated in this bone-deep kind of way. “Wanna show me how much you want it?”

“Please.” Dean nods, swallowing around the dryness in his throat because he knows what comes after this.

Bobby nudges at Dean until he’s kneeling on the floor between his legs, the hardwood floor pressing splinters into his skin. He grabs onto Dean’s heir, then, and guides Dean's mouth onto his dick, starts fucking in and out of it with deep, even, thrusts. 

He goes shallow at first but pretty soon he’s got Dean gasping for breath, his throat convulsing around Bobby’s dick in an effort to swallow him deeper or maybe puke, Dean doesn’t know. Doesn’t care either, for good this makes him feel, just being shoved to his knees and made to take it. 

“Fuck, you look so good, boy,” Bobby’s telling him, fingers tightening in Dean’s hair. “Want me to come on your face?” he asks, and Dean can’t answer that, can’t even dream about saying it out loud, and that’s not even what he wants out of tonight. He makes a soft sound, the loudest he can muster, and hopes Bobby understands. 

Bobby does. He chuckles and holds Dean’s head down longer, until Dean can feel thick spit well up in his throat, his heartbeat pounding behind his eyes from the lack of oxygen. 

“Maybe come in your mouth?” Bobby goes on, finally letting Dean up for breath. Dean gasps, but he manages to shake his head. 

“Oh, I got it,” Bobby mumbles, running a gentle thumb over Dean’s cheekbone. “Want me to fuck you?” he asks, and it’s - it’s sweet, there’s not other way to put it, and Dean, he likes it.

He pulls off of Bobby’s dick and Bobby lets him. “Please,” he says, looking up at Bobby through wet lashes. It’s still dark, but his eyes have adjusted just a bit, and Dean can see the way Bobby’s eyes fall shut, his lips parting. 

“Come up here,” he’s saying, once he’s got it together again, and Dean scrambles to obey. “Want me to open you up?” Bobby asks, a courtesy because Dean says no, always has. He thinks that would be too much, having Bobby touch him that way, because a dick is okay but fingers most definitely aren’t.

Dean flinches when Bobby flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, instinctively reaching for something to cover himself up, but he’s not some self conscious freak so he stops just short of it. Instead he takes the lube Bobby gives him and lays back, spreads his legs and starts to open himself up, very clearly aware of Bobby’s eyes on him. 

He makes quick work of it, probably too quick, and judging by the look Bobby gives him when Dean pulls his fingers out of his ass, he knows it, too. Still he doesn’t argue, just shuffles until he’s kneeling between Dean’s legs, and presses the head of his dick to Dean’s hole. 

Dean shivers at the bare heat of it, and has to squash down the embarrassing sound that wants to leave his lips. He braces for Bobby’s dick, holds his breath and close his eyes, only nothing ever comes, his hole twitching around nothing but air. He finally opens his eyes and lets out a frustrated breath, only to have Bobby smirk at him. 

“I love seeing how hungry you are for it,” he says, and it fucks Dean up, how sweet he makes the words sound, how honest they are.

Dean never means to say it; maybe that makes it better or it makes it worse, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care to find out either. It always slips out of him, in between one breath and the next, and leaves him stripped bare, so fucking exposed he can’t even look at himself much less at Bobby. 

“Daddy,” he says. “Please,” and his voice is breathy, heavy; fucked out. The word makes his entire body burn with shame, with desire, and isn’t that messed up, that Dean’s so screwed in the head this turns him on, turns him on more than a hand around his dick or a fingers pressed against his prostate. 

Bobby doesn’t - he’s never said anything. He’s never objected to it either, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with that. Sometimes he thinks he’d prefer it, if Bobby just up and left, looked at Dean with thinly veiled disgust and refused to touch him ever again. He thinks that would be easier than admitting he needs this, this sort of approval from Bobby, just because he never got it from his father.

Bobby’s eyes soften, and the tension goes out of his body, like he was finally waiting for this moment. “Yeah, baby,” he says, and it’s so sweet, so unlike his usual gruff self, it tears Dean up inside, that Bobby does this for him. “Tell me what you need,” Bobby prompts, rocking his hips against Dean's ass, pressing himself just barely inside Dean.

Dean chokes on his breath, squeezes his eyes tighter still. He spreads his legs farther, until he can feel the pull in his groin, muscles protesting. He doesn’t know what to say. This is already taking too much out of him. He can feel tears building up behind his eyes and he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to put that on Bobby, too, together with his issues. 

“Please,” he just says, choked up, and hopes Bobby doesn’t notice, or maybe he hopes Bobby does, he can’t even tell anymore, not with the mess going around in his head. 

“I got you, baby,” Bobby whispers in Dean’s ear, sweet, kisses his cheek, and Dean can’t take it anymore, he lets the tears spill over, because he can take a beating like a man but he apparently can’t take gentleness without crying like a fucking pussy.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Bobby murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear, making him shiver. “I got you, I’ll take care of you,” he says. He pulls out until the head of his dick is resting against Dean's hole, not quite out but not in either, and Dean clenches around him, tries to pull him in. Whimpers when he can’t, when Bobby just stays there, immobile, his mouth on Dean’s ear. 

“You want it, don’t you?” he’s saying, and Dean doesn’t know how to say that he does, can’t, thinks that would be too humiliating to bear, right now. “You want it bad, sweetheart. Need a dick in you to keep you full, huh?”

Dean doesn’t - he’s not sweet, and he wishes he didn’t need Bobby to do this for him. He feels more tears drip down his temples and sucks in a breath. He chokes on it, flinches when he feels Bobby’s palm rest against his cheek. 

“Shh, baby boy, just breathe for me,” he says, and then, to ruin Dean, “Breathe for Daddy. Be good for Daddy and breathe.”

And Dean could never be good enough for John, but he thinks he can be good enough for Bobby, now. He breathes, and it takes him a couple of tires, to get this right, which is ridiculous, he’s been breathing all his life, but he manages, and then Bobby’s kissing him again, on the lips this time, slow but deep, running his tongue over the inside of Dean’s mouth. Dean arches into it, of course he does, and his close tries to close around Bobby’s dick again, fails. 

“Daddy, please,” he says again, barely a whisper, but it feels like those are the only words his body can make. 

“I know, baby, I know,” Bobby says. “Open your eyes,” he says. 

Dean can’t, he can’t - not when. He squeezes them shut tighter and turns his head away, only to have Bobby grip his jaw with a frim hand and hold him in place.

“Boy,”he says, a warning. Dean’s face burns, not from having his legs spread like a fucking whore, or from begging for Bobby’s dick, but from thinking that he’s let Bobby down, somehow, that he’s failed. 

He opens his eyes, vision blurry with unshed tears. He can’t even meet Bobby’s eyes, has to look at his neck instead, but Bobby praises him for it anyway. “Good boy, you’re so good for me, baby,” he says, and it should make Dean feel like an invalid, all these little tasks Bobby sets out for him, but they make him feel strong instead, flushed with the praise of having done something right. Of having pleased Bobby.

“Now tell me what you want,” Bobby goes on, and Dean can still feel his fucking dick on his hole, but it’s pushing no further. 

Dean thinks - he thinks about saying what he wants out loud, and he starts shaking at the thought. He thinks about asking for Bobby’s dick, and he feels sick, wonders like how much of a cockslut that would make him sound. “Please,” he ends up going with, and maybe Bobby can tell, because he pushes no further. 

“Okay, it’s okay, baby, you don’t have to do that,” Bobby says. “That was too much.”

Dean nods, relaxing, as much as he can. 

“I’ll give you what you want now,” Bobby says, and Dean tenses in anticipation, eyes growing wide and wider still as Bobby starts pushing into him. It hurts, Dean didn’t stretch himself enough for it, and it feels like he’s being split open, but Dean - he takes it.

“Oh god, daddy,” he breathes out, choked up, as Bobby bottoms out. Dean’s rim burns, and it feel like his heart is beating in his hole. 

“You good, baby boy?” Bobby asks, breath coming in quick puffs against Dean’s cheek. “It feel good?”

Dean, he nods, as much as he can muster, and digs his fingers into Bobby’s side, pulling him closer, until Bobby’s got his whole weight on him, pushing him into the mattress. 

Bobby starts fucking right right away, doesn’t wait for Dean to adjust, which is all for the better, Dean is not some weak-ass virgin. Bobby pulls out and shoves back in, hard, knocking Dean’s breath out of him, and it takes him a handful of thrusts, but he eventually zeroes in on Dean’s prostate, and Dean feels his eyes cross, it’s so much. 

“Is that it, baby?” Bobby asks him then, like he can’t already tell. 

Dean nods, breathless. “Yeah, that’s,” Dean just says, the most that he can manage with Bobby driving into his prostate this hard. Then, in a sudden burst of courage, he gets out, “It feels so good, daddy.”

Dean can’t tell if Bobby’s surprised by the admission, but that’s all the better for it. 

Bobby pulls out, his dick leaving Dean’s hole, and Dean’s rim tries to close around nothing, straining. Bobby sits up then, slips his hands under Dean’s thighs and spreads them farther when Dean thought there was no farther to go. He suddenly feels cold air brush against his wet hole and has to close his eyes, embarrassed. 

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty down here,” Bobby murmurs. He presses his thumb into Dean’s hole and Dean can’t the way he clenches around it. “You’ve got such a hungry hole on you, boy,” he’s saying, and Dean turns away, face burning. 

“Hey, hey, now, look at me,” Bobby says then, sweet, and gentle. Coaxing, and Dean hasn’t figured it out yet, how to say no to that tone. 

Bobby’s eyes are kind, when Dean musters up the courage to meet them, contrasting his words, and Dean feels such a strong urge to look away again he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“There’s a good boy,” Bobby praises him, though, which pretty much takes the choice out of Dean’s hand, has him staring, fixated, as Bobby looks down to guide his dick back into Dean’s hole. 

It burns again, and it’s a little dry, like they need more lube, but Dean’s not about to admit that, so instead he breathes through it, and pretty soon, it's starting to feel good again. Has Dean writhing on the sheets, back arching so he can get closer to Bobby. There’s no closer to get, though, so Dean ends up looking like a hungry whore, as if this wasn’t embarrassing enough already. 

“That’s it, baby boy, let me in,” Bobby is saying, and his voice is sweet, a knife between Dean’s ribs. “Let me make you feel good.”

It hurts to hear that, part of Dean - maybe most of him - believing he doesn’t deserve to feel good, but at least Dean doesn’t have to worry about that here. Here, he can just let Bobby have his way with him, call him sweet words and fuck him into the mattress and force him to feel good. Here, Dean doesn’t have to made a whole lot of decisions, and it’s pleasant break from the last twenty years.

“Jesus,” Dean says, when he feels Bobby’s teeth on his nipple, scraping and too rough. “Daddy, can I?” he asks, hand hovering over his dick, and Bobby’s never said no, but Dean’s heart thumps in his chest, cheeks flaming at the question. 

Bobby pulls off Dean’s nipple and moves to his mouth instead, fucks his tongue between Dean’s lips. “Yeah, baby,” he says, driving his dick into Dean’s prostate. He hitches Dean’s leg higher around his waist and does it again and it somehow feels even better this time, that much more intense. 

“Go ‘head and come for me, let me see you,” Bobby says. 

Dean wraps his fingers around his dick and stripes himself off, too quick for it to really feel good, but he can’t take this anymore, the scrutiny or the vulnerability, wants to be done with it. When he comes, it’s more relief rather than anything else, and it doesn’t give Bobby pause. He keeps fucking into Dean, and each thrust feels like it’s scraping Dean on the inside, he’s so sensitive. The tears start coming again, but Dean doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t ask Bobby to stop either; it’s only fair Bobby gets to come after Dean got his. 

“Come on, daddy,” he says instead, and it’s probably the most difficult thing he’s done all night, made slightly easier by the haze of orgasm. “Come in me,” he goes on, a whisper, but he can see the effect it has on Bobby. Eyes growing wide and hips quivering where they’re pressed against Dean’s ass. 

“Jesus, boy,” he says, fucking into Dean quick and uneven, getting closer. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says, and then he’s comign, striping Dean’s insides with it, and Dean cringes, at how good it feels.

After, Bobby rolls off him and Dean can’t the hiss that falls from his lips. Bobby turns to look at him, a look on his face that Dean can’t quite put a name to. “You okay, boy?” Bobby asks him, and Dean - he can’t remember the last time he was okay. That’s probably not what Bobby is looking for, though, so Dean just nods, and makes to get up.

Bobby’s hand reaches out, though, fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold him in place. Dean turns to look at him, frowning, but Bobby is looking at the sheet between them. “Why don’t you lie down with me?” he eventually asks,a dn Dean scoffs, can’t help it. 

“I don’t want to cuddle, old man,” he mumbles, and pulls his hand out of Bobby’s reach. 

“Oh, it’s old man now, isn’t it,” Bobby says, which is - it’s a hit below the belt, unfair, but enough to give Dean pause, which he supposes is what Bobby was going for. 

He flushes, this furious thing that has his face feeling warm, and says, “Bobby.”

“Look, just lie down with me. For a few minutes, is all I ask,” Bobby says, tugging at Dean’s wrist again, and Dean - he’s so tired. He’s been running all his life, going from place to the next, and he’s never had a home, not since he was four. He looks at Bobby’s bed, now, and it looks as close to a home as he’s going to get in this life. 

So Dean lays down, careful to put as much space between them as he can, because that’s about the only barrier he’s got left. Bobby, of course, has to break that, too. He moves across the mattress and pushes and pulls at Dean until he’s laying on his side, his back to Bobby's front. 

They’re not touching, not at first, but slowly, gradually, Bobby moves closer, or maybe Dean does, and suddenly they’re touching all over, from tip to toe, and Dean feels so  _ warm _ . Bobby’s arms come around him, at some point, and he tenses, but Bobby just pulls him closer, and Dean doesn’t bother fighting him. 

Still, it’s difficult for Dean to relax completely, and he never really does. Bobby starts rubbing calloused hands over his back and that helps, but most of Dean is still braced for Bobby to kick him out, yell at him, maybe, call him sick. He doesn’t know if it’s that, or Bobby’s hands, or how much he’s worried about John but refusing to show it, but he starts crying again, crying like a fucking pussy, a weak-ass bitch. 

At first, he holds out hope that Bobby won’t notice it, but they’re pressed together so tightly, and Bobby’s arms are running all over his back, of course he notices the hitch in Dean’s breath, how his body shakes. He sighs, behind Dean, and Dean wipes his eyes, ready to bolt, but Bobby only presses a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. 

“You’ll be okay, boy,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s a lot, but you’re the strongest person I know. You’ll be okay.”

Dean doesn’t really know how to deal with words, John never taught him that, so he rolls over and does the only thing he does know, he kisses Bobby. Bobby sucks in a breath, like he’s surprised, but he kisses Dean back. He rolls onto his back when Dean prompts him to and doesn’t fight it when Dean straddles his hips. 

“Dean,” he just says, this breathy sound, and Dean likes it, he likes it so much he doesn’t know what it says about himself. 

“Please,” Dean says, voice thick with unshed tears and shed ones too. He looks at Bobby in the eye and says, “Daddy, I want you, want to be good for you.”

He watches as Bobby flushes at the words, his cock filling out between Dean’s legs.

Dean rides Bobby the second time, slow and languid, and Bobby calls him good the entire time, and slowly, this feeling starts to bubble up in Dean’s chest, foreign but light, and Dean cherishes it. They kiss, too, they kiss so much that Dean’s face starts to itch but he doesn’t pull away. It doesn't hurt at all this time, and a couple of times, Dean tries to go harder, faster, find that sharp edge again, but Bobby gentles him each time. By the time he comes, Dean’s body aches but in a good way, and he feels full with Bobby’s come inside him, but he knows that’s probably in his head. 

They lie together again after, this time face to face, and Dean mostly has his eyes closed, but he can feels Bobby’s hands on him, his fingers carding through Dean’s hair periodically, and it feels good. Dean lets himself feel good, if only for a little while. 

+

The next morning, Dean leaves. Bobby makes them breakfast and they eat together in his kitchen. It’s good, and Bobby doesn’t let things grow awkward. Dean is immensely grateful. 

“What are you going to do?” Bobby asks him while Dean is shrugging on his coat. 

“I’m gonna go find Sammy,” Dean says. It’s the only thing he can think to do. 

“Are you sure you should be dragging him back into this mess?” Bobby asks, and it’s not unkind, but it’s tough, the way Dean’s used to hearing him. 

Dean shrugs. “I’m gonna give him a choice,” he says. “It’s up to him.”

Bobby frowns, but he nods. “You need anything, you call me,” he says. 

Dean looks at him and he - he wants a lot of things. He wants to kiss him, for one, but he doesn’t know how to do that in broad daylight in the middle of his poarch. He wants to touch him but he doesn’t know how to do that outside of sex. He wants to talk to him but no one ever taught him how. 

Dean wants. And he hates Bobby for making him do so. 

He doesn’t think he’ll be calling, not any time soon. 


End file.
